This is no love poem

This is no love poem;
I wrote this
to remind myself that this heart of mine
has not been aching since forever,
to remind myself that your leaving
has not taken love along its side.

How often you have told me
that I was too young to love as much as I pretended
and how long I tried to convince you
that the older I got, the less I could remember the taste of sweetness upon your lips,
the less I remembered the fear of losing
and the fear of forever.

You see; today I woke up
drenched in dreams of things that never were mine;
hollow heart and no thoughts at all,
as if all we had lived through had been merely dreams.

Some people abuse drugs,
I abused love;
so much so that I became addicted to your recognition,
I craved your arms;
first only at night,
then every second of my days.

If only I had been weak enough to give up,
maybe I’d be lying next to other rotting bodies;
to addicts of all-kinds,
until the sickness of love had reduced my bones to dust.

This is no love poem,
but I wish it was.

Jehona Thaqi© (selfportrait)

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Patience

It was a late night in a quiet city,
the winter-breeze dancing around the façade of our house

which was enlightened by the mellow moon-shine

and covered in freshly fallen snow.

I waited;

the candle-light flickered upon the silverware and wine glasses,

until the candles burned out;

and the light diminished upon a table full of things you loved to eat.

I waited;

sitting on the couch you had bought for us,

wearing the dress you loved,

all black upon my pale skin;

my eyes fixed on the clock,

my ears listening to the silence that seemed so violent within this small house,

my hands pressed upon my thighs,

agressively; in order to stay awake.

I waited;

you said you would be there,

as you did so often;

and when you could not make it,

you laughed, charmingly;

sometimes we make mistakes

you would say and kiss me on my forehead

and I would laugh, too;

the table still arranged,

it is alright, love.

I waited; 

but you did not come

until the first sun-rays shone through the curtains,

you laughed, and kissed me on my forehead,

the dress still upon my pale skin,

I laughed, too,

and left.

I had waited

too long.

Jehona Thaqi© (my drawing of Nera Z., you can follow her on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nera.z/ )

BIG NEWS

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Fiona Shabani

Dearest Reader, I am extremely excited to talk to you about my new project! Soon I will start to sell not only portraits (as some of you might already know from my other Social Media profiles), but also handwritten prints and illustrations of my poetry.

You will be able to purchase your portrait or your favorite poem online. The details are listed below.
It has always been a dream of mine to have my own little shop, where I can sell art in the most various forms to other art-lovers. I am starting here and now to widen my audience and I am hoping to connect myself with people from all around the globe, to share my interests and to make someone out there smile. Maybe the passion for my own shop will turn into reality in the near future.

If you are interested (portrait or illustrations of my poetry) please contact me via E-Mail: thaqi.jehona@hotmail.com .

Details on my portraits: I work on 100% cellulose paper (cold pressed), 13,5 x 21 cm. Shipping worldwide! If there are other requests (oil-paintings, etc.) I will be pleased to add them to my homepage. Feel free to contact me at any time!

Details on my poetry-illustrations: please contact me via E-Mail! I am open about new styles and I will try to make them as customized and personal as possible!

THANK YOU for your support!

Yours sincerely,
Jehona Thaqi

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Evon Wahab
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Lana Del Rey
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Dhurata Dora
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Name unkown
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Jehona Thaqi
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Era Istrefi

 

Dedikuar ty

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Ah, sa shume vargje ti dedikova permes heshtjes. E di qe i ndegjove, ne mes te muzgut dhe agimit.
Diku ne endrrat e tua i ndjeve ato fjal, qe u mundova ti spjegoja me shkrimet e mija te panumerta. Po me trego, si mund ta spjegosh dhimbjen ne mes te brinjeve? Sa fjal duhen ta pershkrush stuhin brenda vetes? Kush arrin te kuptoj zjarrin qe digjet pran gjetheve te vjeshtes? Sa metafore duhen per te treguar qe me mungon?
“Dua te behem poete”, te thash. Por nuk di si te behem poete kur filloj dhe mbaroj çdo fjali me emrin tend.

I have dedicated to you verses through silence. I know you heared them somewhere inbetween dusk and dawn. Within your vivid dreams you heared my words, those stories I tried to tell you in all my letters. But tell me, how do I explain the pain I feel within my ribs? How many words are enough to explain the storm within my body?
“I want to be a poet”, I said. But how can I be a poet if every beginning and end is signed with your name.

Jehona Thaqi©